


A Crossing of Man and the Gods

by Aanoeraix



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drama, Gen, M/M, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aanoeraix/pseuds/Aanoeraix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Iero finds himself alone and restless in a dying town, plagued with a dead end job, dead beat acquaintances. Frank aches for closeness and purpose. When he meets Gerard, an introverted yet famed local artist, things begin to change. This man holds more power than Frank can even begin to fathom. His understanding of himself and the universe as a whole will be turned around. In the end, will Gerard's entrance be Frank's saving grace or death certificate?<br/>(Sorry I m poor at summarization)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Crossing of Man and the Gods

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE notify me if you find any errors in the work. I've tried my best to proof read it on my own but sometimes you need someone else's eye.  
> And, to clarify, it is quite possible you have seen this on DeviantArt, ficwad, wattpad, LiveJournal, and Fanfiction.net. Yes, I am the original author. No, the other accounts have not stolen it from me. All of those belong to me as well. What can I say, I'm a view-whore.

It's hot today. Too hot for early April, at about 75 degrees (Fahrenheit.) Well, no so much hot as it is humid and mucky. The air sticking to your skin like a thin layer of Vaseline. The sun poured its bright light all over the town of framework and rubble. Collapsed and uninhabitable buildings, ones in the process of being built crowded the streets that packed a punch to anyone who stops and thinks of what the future did to the past. Not one building rattier than the next (thank whatever God was involved in that miracle.) For a town that was in the process of being modernized, this is still a rancid hell hole. Litter was more prevalent than grass, and this place has a population composed of scumbag after scumbag after asshole scumbag. Drug dealers and their worshipping addicts, pimps and their loyal whores. Everyone in this town has some skeletons in the closet, some more deformed than others.

I'm happy to say the worst thing I've ever done is tune school completely out, and call my step-father a cock-munch once or twice. In comparison to the general track record for people who call this place home, my history is spotless. I'm practically a saint. No drugs, no STDs, no alcohol, no stealing, no law breaking, no nothing. I am essentially a patrician among these parts, a nobleman. I just need to become rich, famous, and popular, and I’ll start my own aristocracy.

I work at Boyd's Produce, one of the many run down mom and pop stores that infested this town like cockroaches in an apartment in Detroit. You know the place. Well, probably not specifically, but it's that tiny ratchet-looking store you go to when you're too pressed for time to go to a store that sells quality products. That store where you're just about positive they're paying off the health inspector, but until they admit to it, it doesn't concern you all too much. Poor lighting that flickers at random intervals, dingy concrete floors, a low ceiling scarred by water damage. That is my place of employment.

_As it has been for the last three years._

This is where you picture an angst filled 19 year old sighing in his beat up faded navy blue Suburban, with the air conditioner blowing in his face. He’s got short bottle black hair, a nose ring, lip ring, and a couple scattered tattoos. With the dark gray puddled under his bright hazel eyes, you're not sure if he's wearing eyeliner or not, but he probably is. He's got on a black band shirt with whatever was printed on it has faded and hardly resembles what it used to. Torn dark blue skinny jeans and ugly beat up sneakers.

_Got all that?_

Good, because that guy is me. I happen to be sitting in my car, waiting for my clock to tell me it's 8:20 am and I need to be in there, in my uniform (also known as an ugly maroon smock, itchy khakis, and a forest green polo), and working. It is hot out today and this god-forsaken building that -of course, has no AC. Boss can spend money on coke for parties (the good stuff, I've seen him wired), but he can't spare a little money for at least a fan. After all that sexual harassment you figure he'd try and make good with me by giving in to at least one of my (many) complaints.

_8:16 am_

It doesn't really matter very much; I'll just hang out in the freezer section and pretend to be stocking up or something. It's not like I'd jump at the opportunity to work the register. I'm sick of idiots that are coming down from a couple day high spilling something on me, or the area I have to work at for the remainder of the day. When I said this town is full of druggies, I meant it. Everyone I know is on something; glass, coke, PCP, Heroin.

_Vices left virtues in the dust._

Mood; Sad, lonely, upset, empty. It dawns upon me this is just going to be another day I spend alone, eat alone, watch TV alone, and sleep alone. I want to do something. This purgatory will be the death of me. I'm caught in a whirlwind of absolutely nothing. Soul crushing blankness and I can't escape. I can't make friends; they're all addicted to drugs. They'd probably sell me for an eight ball, and if they were a loyal friend, well you know. My luck dictates they'd die the minute I became attached to them, or the second I decided they were someone I wanted to have in my life. Maybe I'd get sucked into the drugs, too.

Sometimes I wonder if I'd be worth it. Euphoria must be better than this feeling, and I'm not even sure what this feeling is, if it's anything at all. It's empty, and it hurts. Like someone hollowed me out and only left my restless bones. I want to explore, and feel passion. I want to get caught up in something crazy. I want to be out all the time, doing things that make me look back and just be able to utter a content sigh, and sleep at night without thinking I'm fucking missing something. I want to love, I want to be loved, I want to share with someone, and I want more. I want to start living.

_8:18am_

The car radio buzzes softly in the background as I glance at the clock. I'm trying to not look at it, because you know what they say. A watched pot never boils. However in this case, the pot decides to boil whenever it's good and ready, even though 60 seconds feels like ten minutes in here. Staring at a clock is like flipping an hourglass in zero gravity.

_8:20am_

Fuck. I don't want to go. I want to stay in my car and nap, not go spend eight hours making a little better than minimum wage working with perverts and idiots, and having to work for a bunch of drugged up inbred shitheads. Who are they to get hooked on drugs and fuck up my day like they do? I just want one day with normal, friendly people that don't make me want to go commit mass fucking murder.

_But I suppose a little courtesy or respect for those around you is too fucking much to ask._

My brain convinces my muscles to get out of the car, and begin the dreaded walk to the building. Stepping out of the door, work clothes in a jumbled up lump, I grabbed my phone and slammed the door. A crash of a car door was generally the signal of my arrival. Partly out of being grumpy, and partly from my car being a piece of shit. I tripped slightly up the curb in front of the employee entrance. Of course, I had dropped my clothes on the ground. "Fucking hell." I grumbled myself, collecting my things and adjusting my shirt which had become crooked from me bending over. I brushed off my pile of things, and pushed the employee door open with my left shoulder.

A humidity worse than outside hit me and stuck like a thick dirty blanket. The moist hot air made the smell in this joint even worse, and I was hoping that that wouldn't be possible. I groaned loudly, scrunching my face in protest of my senses being assaulted. My groan was answered by a " _oh god, its you_." from the floor.

"Yes Andrew, it's me." I sighed loudly enough to be heard. _Who the fuck else would it be?_ I thought to myself.

I slipped into the bathroom before changing, knowing he'd soon come into the 'locker room' (read: glorified bathroom) and fill me in on his night of clubbing, bar hopping, or whatever stupid story about his life he had. I didn't believe him a majority of the time, of course. It was always one of those tales a 'bro' would try and use to convince his other bros that he was alpha bro or whatever the fuck kind of social status they'd try and gain from being a man-whore, or even worse lying about being a total man-whore. It wasn't even the lying I had a problem with, it's the fact that they're too caught up in being better than everyone else that they make up a self that they'd rather show everyone. It's this pride in a false self, almost like narcissistic cowardice, to a degree that nearly makes me sick.

I locked the door behind me just as a precaution, I didn't think he'd follow me, but you can never be too safe. After I heard the click of the lock, Andrew opened the door to the employee room (it functioned as a small locker room, kind of) and he chuckled lightly, like a father about to regale his son about the time he had his first kiss.

"You would not _believe_ the time I had last night." He sighed contently as I heard him lean against one of the shaky metal lockers.

"You're completely right, I probably wouldn't." I nodded to myself, slipping off my shirt and replacing it with my disgusting forest green polo. It wasn't disgusting in a sense that it was icky and went unwashed, because that's the complete opposite of the truth. I washed it all the time, it just feels itchy and the color is horrible. I pinned my name tag to the upper left side of my shirt, and waited for Andrew to continue.

“Ah-ha-ha! Typical Frank! Quick as a motherfuckin' bullet!” He said loudly, obviously not understanding I was completely serious in that I probably would not believe him, unless of course he told me a story about how hard he was tripping on some acid. That was completely believable and not at all something I'd put past him. “Dude, there were these three blonde babes.” He paused for a moment. “Well you wouldn't think they're babes 'cuz ya like dick 'n all... Anyway, these three gorgeous babes at Qrawl...” Qrawl was a local scumfuck watering hole. It was a nice bar, but you couldn't exactly say the same for the patrons. “...And they were all giving me the bedroom eyes, lookin' me over like I was a bar of chocolate er some shit.”

“Really?” I said adding a pinch of insincere interest as I dropped my jeans to the floor and replaced them with my khakis. I realized I forgot my work shoes and just put my ratty Nike’s on, figuring no one would care since I plan on hiding out in the warehouse all day.

“Yeah.” He said, drawing out the 'ah' part to the point I felt embarrassed for him. I could almost hear the smile creak on his lips before he uttered whatever he was going to say next. Blah blah blah, let me take them home, blah blah blah awesome once in a life time foursome, pause, or would that be an orgy, pause, either way still awesome, blah blah blah, they want me to call them, blah blah blah. “They all gave me their numbers. We might hook up again soon. You want me to see if they've got a gay friend you can nail? Or get nailed by.” He said, trailing off. “I'm not sure what you're into.”

I swear every time I talk to this guy my sexuality is brought up into the conversation like it's something abnormal, or something unusual that needs to be discussed. I tucked my shirt in and threw my maroon smock that read “Boyd's” across the midsection on, and walked out of the bathroom. Andrew looked different. He had a pale slender face and light brown freckles sprinkled all over his cheeks and nose. His shoulder length light brown hair seemed like it was what was making him look different. He probably got a haircut.

“You don't have to know what I'm into; it's no business of yours.” I finally grumbled after my inspection of my co-worker. I rolled my eyes and walked past him into the store itself. Cue the light flicker, and the splash of a puddle that had formed from a section of leaky ceiling. I grimaced as my head snapped downwards toward my foot to inspect the damage to my already damaged shoes. I let out a quiet sound of lament, because I had now gotten water in my shoes. That's going to be horribly uncomfortable, and I don't have a change of socks of shoes. I heard a 'bing-bong' at the entrance. Our first crack head of the day, fan-fucking-tastic.

“Sorry, forgot to warn ya 'bout that puddle.” Andrew said, pushing past me to get to the register, stepping over the collected water much to my own displeasure..

Once again, I rolled my eyes in response. I tried my best to slither to the back to the warehouse before anyone even noticed I was here. If they knew I was here, they'd probably ask me for help, and I'd rather not help. Everyday seems to not be my day, and today seems a little worse than usual. It's hot, my clothes are itchy, my shoes are wet, and Andrew put me in a worse humor than I was already in.

I opened the door to the warehouse, and began to move around some boxes to make it look like I'm actually doing something productive,or at the very least something that qualifies as work. If the manager –Phil, came in he'd probably get pissed and give me a hard time, but it'd probably keep him from trying to fondle my ass. That is certainly a deal if there has ever been one.

I should file sexual harassment charges or something. I would file sexual harassment charges -or something, if circumstances were different. I just don't want to lose my job, or have this guy beat me within an inch of my life if they couldn't send him to jail, or they only fined him and let him get away with feeling me up or trying to get me to sleep with him. He wasn't bad looking, he just wasn't my type. He had short hair, a typical guy cut. His hair was dark brown with a couple of lighter brown highlights running through it. They weren't those obnoxiously loud and bright highlights everyone gets because they have zero taste, those atrocious frosted tips. I'm assuming his are natural because they change from winter to summer. He was well built, muscular enough for it to be noticeable but not totally repulsive. He stood at about 6'4", towering over me by at least a foot. Where he went wrong was being a self-inflated, verbally abusive assbag.

I also couldn't afford to lose my job. My mom was diagnosed with cancer about six months ago and anything I have left over after rent, groceries and gas goes into her treatment and recovery. It's not that she doesn't have sufficient funds; I just want to help as much as I possibly can, even if I'm hardly contributing. I can deal with being eye fucked and groped like the produce in a grocery store as long as it's helping my mom get better, or at least making her more comfortable. Her husband hardly wants to associate himself with me because I haven’t gone to college, have no plans to go to college, and didn’t exactly pass high school with flying colors. He’s the one paying for her medical expenses, but I figure if I make it known I’d like to help and I am a productive human being he won’t be so cold to me anymore.

I was snapped out of my reverie of sorts (reverie generally indicates a pleasant state of being lost in your thoughts, and let's face it, things up here aren't too pleasant) when Andrew walks in, his rat-like face peering around. I figure he's looking for me, so I'll make this interesting. I hid behind a large stack of boxes, and I could hear him shuffle around because he knows I'm in here, and he knows he just heard me move.

"Frank? Where are ya dude?" He called, and I detected a slight hint of fear in his voice. He probably thought the warehouse was haunted or that there was a burglar back here, or something else that was really stupid and unwarranted. To continue to hide or not to hide, that is the question.

I decided against continuing to hide, because I would run out of places to hide. Chances are he'd see me moving from place to place. I stepped out from behind the large stack. I tried to make it look as if I had just been busy doing something, and not playing a stupid spur of the moment game.

"Yes?" I asked. After some time to myself, I had lost a little of my beginning of the day irritation. Andrew wasn't that bad, for the most part. I just don't like his stories and his incessant chattering.

"Come out to the registers. I hate being out there alone, 'n if someone needs ta be there ta show people... y'know... stuff." He stated, throwing his arms to his sides casually.

"Show people stuff?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow. Don't tell me he doesn't know where anything is and that is what he needs me out there for.

"You know where everything is. You've worked here fer like three years." He said, his eyes growing slightly wide like it's only my job to know where shit is.

"You've worked here for five!" I said my voice getting a tad louder, unable to believe this guy. "That's the only thing you need to be able to do to work here!"

"Rememberin' is hard when all I do is stand 'round at the registers while the other people on my shift play hide 'n seek in the stock room." He stated flatly, raising an eyebrow slightly in addition to a subtle shrug.

I immediately groaned in response. "It's Friday, tomorrow is my day off, I don't want to talk to people, I don't want to work with people, I don't want to think about people." I grumbled indignantly.

"Well I'm sorry ya picked today to play misanthrope..." I see that word of the day calendar I bought you for secret Santa has _actually_ paid off. "...but you're at work now."

My eyes narrowed at him, and my eyebrows furrowed to muster the best look of 'shut your mouth' I possibly could. I knew I had just lost, but I'd rather look like an ass trying to justify my constant irritation than look like an ass by admitting to being wrong in my attitude. I have this funny habit of not quitting while I'm ahead. "Fine." I sighed. "Whatever, I'll hang out with you by the registers."

A solid three hours later no one had set foot in the store since that first person when we first opened up. Andrew and I wound up playing catch with a pack of gum behind the registers. He’s actually not too bad in conversation, granted you don’t mind someone with the intellect of a 10th grade drop out. I’m not saying dropping out of high school makes you a bad person though I don't think dropping out of school is good. I’m sure Andrew didn’t drop out he just –as aforementioned, had the intellect of a person you’d assume had all of 80 brain cells and decided to give up on education half way through high school.

Throughout the next five hours, we got our regular amount of customers, which was somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty. It was about twenty minutes before closing time, and I was packing my stuff up, and cleaning up some of the dirt people had tracked in. I was sweeping lazily, and just pushing the pile of dirt into a corner, and tucking it away under a rug. I believe I deserve a spot on the wall for employee of the month, don’t you agree?

“Hey, Frank.” I heard Andrew call once again.

“Yes?” I replied, turning around to face him. He had his jacket on (which made no sense because there was hardly a chill in the air) and was obviously about ready to start locking up.

"D'ya have a fake ID?" He grilled, scoping out the room as he asked as if there was someone in there that would hear him ask.

"I've got one lying around somewhere." I shrugged. In this town, everyone had a fake ID, whether or not they used it was a different story. I only used mine so I could go to bars and eat bar food. Eggplant fries are really good with a veggie burger, deep fried and greasier than a mechanic's hands. Perks of being a vegetarian; bar food that wont put you under 20 years early.

“Let’s go to a club tonight, then.” He suggested. “I’m in need of a wingman anyway,” _I bet you are._ “'N ladies love gay dudes fer some reason… Maybe we can find you a boy toy, er whatever you’re into.”

Getting sick of this ‘whatever you’re into’ shit, I sighed and raised an eyebrow, completely underwhelmed. “A club? Really?” I scoffed in response to his proposal.

“Sure, I don’ see why not. Ya don’ get out much anyway.” He shrugged, zippering his jacket up.

“Yes, and there is a reason for that.” I protested.

“Don’ be such a downer, man. Ya need ta loosen up.” He said, and I could tell he knew I wasn’t convinced. “Listen, if ya don’ like it, you can leave.”

I let out a long sigh, and pinched the bridge of my nose with my pointer finger and thumb. I thought for a moment or two. A majority of me wanted to say no and tell him that he’d have a better chance of seeing a pig flying around in a frozen hell, but there was a faint voice inside me that said I should go. It said I don’t get out much, and I’m growing lonelier as time goes on. My arm fell to my side; I raised my shoulder and inhaled deeply.

“Fine, Andrew.” I groaned. 

_I guess this means I’m going clubbing._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Any feedback would be fabulous. Have a wonderful day~


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